The Wolf
by gypsypower
Summary: Casey reflects on her past & how it made her who she is today
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own no characters here (wistful sigh). The lyrics are Catie Curtis's "The Wolf" (brilliant lady). 

_"When my daddy lived here, I never worried _

_When my daddy lived here, he read me stories_

_And I never was afraid when the endings were scary_

_'cause my daddy would say, "I will keep you safe girl_

_When the wolf comes to the house"_

I never will understand why he left . . . why he left me there. I **know** why he did. She won custody; it was back in the days when Mother was heavily favored in any divorce case. Back before society realized that women could be just as incompetent as men in childrearing abilities. There really wasn't anything he could do; the law dealt him a crappy hand, and there was no bluffing his way around it. He couldn't throw down his one weekend a month and every other holiday in hopes for a better deal. I **know** that; but, even so, logically knowing something and emotionally comprehending it are oceans of tears apart. I have always known I was a smart child. After my parents' divorce, I buried myself in books and learning. Itried to fill my brain with anything and everything to keep my thoughts from my father, from my old family; Itried to stuff enough knowledge in me to fill the hole of my father's absence. The longer we lived apart, the farther we drifted apart. The older I got, the more I missed him, and the less I could remember those nights he used to read me to sleep, safe in his arms.

"_Now my mother has a boyfriend, she let him move in_

_She let him tell her she's just a fool and_

_I've heard them fighting, I heard him knock her down_

_And I try to read at night, but I don't like it now_

'_cause when the wolf lives in your house_

_You can't get him out"_

I can easily trace my evolution from bright happy child to sullen little girl. It's less obvious to pinpoint the exact deterioration of my security. When my father left, I read obsessively for paradoxical reasons; on one hand I thought I could fill my brain with enough knowledge to push my father out, get rid of those memories and thus the pain of his leaving. On the other hand, reading reminded me of him; it was almost like my security blanket: most of my memories of my father being him holding me at night reading to me, and me feeling safe. But when He moved in, everything changed. It was a tension in the air; I could almost smell it thickening my nostrils as I inhaled. I was young, but not naive. I learned to breath quietly, walk quietly, live quietly. I disappeared into my surroundings. By the time I had discovered how to live invisibly, I had lost my father and his security completely. I spent my nights and my days yearning to forget the fighting, the yelling, the insults; I had no energy left for fairy tales anymore.

"_And my mother tells me we are a family_

_But I don't want to be, I have a plan_

_Yes, I am waiting for the day when I am stronger_

_And I will step in the way_

_I will make him sorry_

_When the wolf lives in your house _

_You can't get him out"_

I know exactly when I decided things had to change; I was eight years old, and He had been living with us for a couple years. Thursday, September the seventh. The date the invisible girl removed her shroud; the date He proposed to my mother. She didn't even ask me what I thought, just told him, "Yes." I could tell by the look in his eyes he would devour us both; I could see him licking his canines and salivating. I screeched, "You'll never be my father." I have no recollection of why; perhaps I had no reason, was just a hurt and scared little girl. That night He thrashed my mother to punish me; the whole time bellowing about her disrespectful brat. The worst part was there was nothing I could do. I was just a skinny pale girl, sixty pounds of hate and fear and guilt. I knew I couldn't overpower him. When I got older, I battled withshame because I didn't call the police or a hotline; but, looking back, I didn't even know they existed. They were outside my realm. I just knew one day I would get bigger; I would be smarter. I never spoke out to him again. I never spoke to him again. I went to school, immersed myself in learning again. I gained a brash look in my eye that he feared; he knew better than to ever lay a hand on me. And as powerful as that made me feel on the outside, on the inside I knew I needed to save my mother. So I delved deeper into academia, earned a full ride to college. I knew from the first day of Law 101 I had finally found my weapon. When I finally graduated law school, the first case I wanted to prosecute was His, but I couldn't even convince my mother to press charges. I immersed myself in white collar crime, just as in my youth, working fervently on emotionless cases trying to erase the turbulence of my childhood and my mother's inability to let me help her. And it was working, sort of. Then Arthur Branch had his brilliant realization that I should be the next SVU Assistant District Attorney.


	2. Adia

"Adia" lyrics by Sarah McLachlan; SVU peoples by Dick Wolf

"_Adia I do believe I failed you_

_Adia I know I let you down_

_Don't you know I tried so hard _

_To love you in my way"_

I knew working Special Victims cases wouldn't be easy, but I had in no way anticipated how hard it would be. I can remember my first case with them, wanting to impress the squad so badly, and failing so miserably. I don't know what's worse sometimes, my childhood or the inadequacies it caused. It seems my mental escape that saved me was also the catalyst for my myriad of adult faults, mainly my lack of social skills. I know I have a tendency to come on too strongly, to show that I can handle my shit. I do it because I just want to prove to _myself_ that I _am_ a big girl now, and even if I can't help my mother, I can help myself. Instead, I just end up making myself look pretentious and condescending. And to make matters worse, I can't seem to let my self-imposed prison walls down long enough for anyone to figure out what's going on.

"_Adia I'm empty since you left me_

_Try to find a way to carry on_

_I search myself and everyone _

_To see where we went wrong_

'_Cause there's no one left to finger_

_There's no one here to blame_

_There's no one left to talk to honey"_

I think back to Olivia storming into my office at the end of that first trial, angry with me for pushing that little girl too hard. She knew I was upset, but she didn't know the exact reasons. Oh, how I wanted to tell her. In my mind that little girl was me; I wanted so badly to hurt my step-father at that age, and I carried it over to that little girl. I wanted her to put her bad guy away so she wouldn't spend the rest of her life carrying this burden around. Instead, I probably made her guilt worse.

I was crying on that couch, analyzing my actions, when Olivia came in. I wanted to open up to her, to purge myself of the fear that I would not be able to work with young victims, that I would not be able to separate myself and my past from them. But I didn't know her any more than she knew me. Actually all I knew of her was that she, in fact, did not seem to like me very much. I knew opening up about my fears would most likely be kindling to stoke her flame. So, instead, I soaked up the little sympathy she offered and tried to hold myself together.

"_Adia I thought that we could make it_

_But I know I can't change the way you feel_

_I leave you with your misery_

_A friend who won't betray_

_I pull you from your tower_

_I take away your pain_

_I show you all the beauty you possess"_

I still agonize over my mother's plight incessantly. And the sad part is, after working with this squad, I see people like her every day. Some want help, and some don't. I have no inkling why this last group of women willingly put up with physical, mental, emotional torture; but I have learned that no one can help them until they want it. So, I wallow in my self-imposed guilt, guilt that I know I shouldn't be carrying around. Perhaps part of me is ashamed my own mother is one of those women the squad and I look at with eyes wide with shock and amazement. Perhaps I feel guilty that I try to hide this from everyone. It is easy to do if you don't let anyone in. I hide in myself, inside my prison of shame, and push everyone away. Little do they know the smirks, the attitude, the brazenness are all defense mechanisms to keep anyone from learning my dirty little secret. I don't even want to imagine what would happen if the SVU Unit discovered their own ADA couldn't even prosecute her own mother's abuser. They doubt my skills enough as is. Though lonely, living alone seems a far better choice to me than living my life with my abilities constantly questioned over such a personal issue.


End file.
